There is a Reason
by krazy4kowalski
Summary: Six penguins. An evil villain. A plot to destroy them all. Who will survive? The history of the penguins is revealed! No slash except for Pripper in a non-romantic way. No OCs either. Rated for mild swearing.
1. The Price of Love

It was early spring. The sun rose as always over the Central Park Zoo, and at 9:00, the tourists flocked in. The six penguins stood on their ice floe as gawking humans cheered and laughed around their habitat. The Penguins were waving to avoid suspicion. Because no one would know. Not the humans, not the animals, and certainly not Dr. Blowhole. No, he could not know. He could not know that the note served its intended purpose. No one could know they were scared out of their wits.

It was on Manfredi's pillow that morning:

My Flightless Foes,

It is my great pleasure to inform you that your time is short. We have the entire zoo under surveillance and the minute one of you even mention any sort of retaliation; all of Manhattan will become no more than a smoking crater in the ground.

These are my demands: You will come to the White House at 8:00 pm tonight. You will enter unarmed. Remember, I am watching you and I will know if Rico isn't completely clean.

Lastly, you will follow my further instructions at the rendezvous without hesitation. Failure to do so will result in dire consequences and I urge you not to test my honesty. You will assist me before your deaths. By not cooperating, you are only hastening your doom.

I will see you on Saturday, penguins,

_D_r_. Blowhole_

"I knew this day would come," Skipper said when the zoo closed, "The last time I faced Blowhole, I was solo. Now I have an entire team to look after."

Johnson seemed offended. He was Skipper's closest friend, his lieutenant, and was almost as good of a fighter as him. To imply that that he could not handle his commanding officer's nemesis was a terrible insult.

Kowalski was examining the note. "It's strange," He said finally.

The penguins looked up hopefully.

"Manhattan can't become a smoking crater in the ground. It's an ISLAND!"

"Kowalski, just get to the point," Rico groaned, "Have you found any loopholes or not?" Although Rico was Kowalski's closest friend, they nearly always quarreled. But when they worked on inventions together, you couldn't pry them apart. Kowalski liked to brag that his IQ was much higher than Rico's. Rico countered that the few points that separated them could easily be changed by a "swift bump on the noggin". He would take out his anvil for good measure. Kowalski would shut up. However, Rico was able to mix his _nearly_ Kowalski level brain with his position on the team. Every explosive in the HQ was made by his own hands (well, flippers, but you get the point!).

"Nope, seems air tight," Kowalski replied fretfully, "We can't risk doubting his threat. If he does indeed posses a weapon of mass destruction, we have to assume he'll use it."

"Then we have no choice but to start packing our bags and get on the next flight to

Washington." Skipper said.

Rico pulled a plane schedule out of the backpack he carried everywhere. Practical Manfredi always feared that one of the zookeepers would spot the pack, but it had never happened. It had always blended in with his black feathers. Of course, the pack had other drawbacks: Rico often complained about how difficult it was to reach into it every time the team needed a tool or weapon. But since no other option could be found, Rico just had to get used to it. And, of course, after 5 years as the Explosives expert, he had.

After finding a 3:00 plane, the operation seemed more and more real- and deadly.

"C'mon, men!" Johnson complained, "We have nothing to fear. We can take on that boring bottlenose any day!" But it sounded more like he was reassuring himself.

"Yes, but I'm more worried about that whole "You will assist me before your deaths" part," Private whimpered.

Skipper had thought long and hard about whether or not to allow Private to come on this mission. He was the youngest penguin and still had most of his baby fuzz. In fact, Skipper was still not sure he should have even let Private join the team. But he had promised Roberto he would train his son.

Although Private thought he had never seen Blowhole in his life, he had indeed been part of a battle with him. It was mid-November, almost a decade before. Skipper had gone to the 3rd floor of the Empire State Building to meet Roberto. The penguin was the leader of the team over at the Bronx Zoo and met with Skipper once a year to discuss anything that was of importance to either of them. But the year before, Skipper and Roberto had an argument. A new female had been brought to Roberto's habitat and, with a giant grin, he had announced that they were engaged.

But Skipper was angry. He told him that nothing could endanger a team more than romance. To Skipper, nothing mattered unless it helped you survive. But Roberto thought differently.

"Love and combat can work together," he had argued, "What is it that compels you to rescue the innocent? Is it not love?"

Skipper still disagreed and the meeting ended abruptly. A year after that meeting, he received an unexpected telegram from Roberto asking him to continue their annual meetings. Thinking there must be an important reason, Skipper accepted this invitation. When he arrived at The Empire State Building, it was already dark. 'It's almost winter,' he thought. Against his better judgment, he had proceeded.

At the third floor, he saw a penguin's silhouette. But instead of Roberto's charming British accent, Skipper heard a whine.

In battle position, he cried out, "Show yourself! I'm armed" This, of course, was not true, but it always sounded intimidating.

The whining ceased and became a cry. Roberto stepped out of the shadows.

"Please, Skipper, keep it down!" he hissed, "My son is trying to sleep!"

"Son?" Skipper's heart beat rapidly.

"It was love, Skipper. A thing you'll never understand. I came to introduce you two. I hoped that a chick's innocence could get you to realize what you're missing. But I suppose I thought wrong."

"How could you?" Skipper asked in a strangled voice.

"I knew this was a mistake," he turned to leave, "But my life is now no concern of you.

My future belongs to young Joshua."

Skipper was amazed. His closest friend was giving up everything for that puff-ball in his flippers. Already, he despised the baby penguin. It had robbed Roberto of his life.

"Goodbye, old friend," Skipper said, "I would ask you how your team is, but I see you've replaced them with your _son_." he uttered that last word with the most possible contempt.

Roberto had seemed hurt. He walked away without another word.

Skipper began the long walk home feeling strangely hollow. 'Maybe a little shut-eye will do me some good,' he thought. But he wouldn't get any. Not that night.

For suddenly, a great cry arose from near the zoo. Roberto. Skipper slid on his belly towards him.

To this day, Skipper is unable to forget the terrible scene he found there. Roberto was on the ground, a large gash on his forehead dripping blood down his face. The chick was crying again, next to his father, and staring with terror at the large figure before him.

It was Dr. Blowhole.

"I'll ask you one more time, pain-gu-in," the mad dolphin addressed Roberto, "I know you have been meeting with Skipper here for the past seven years. _Where is he?_"

Roberto was struggling to remain conscious. "I-I won't tell you," he said softly. Skipper felt a swell of pride that Roberto would not turn him in, no matter what kind of words where said. But he could obviously handle no further interrogation. Skipper decided to return the favor.

"Look no further, Blowhole!" Skipper said boldly.

The dolphin turned and smiled, "At last, Skipper. At last." He was smiling and his eyes had an oddly hungry look to them. Roberto managed a weak smile.

Skipper struck his typical battle pose, "Bring it on, Blowhole! You know I can beat you; any time, any place."

Again, Dr. Blowhole smiled, "Oh, I think you'll find victory quiiiiiiite impossible this time."

Skipper smirked, "You in what army?"

"This one!" From behind the dolphin's segway, no less than a dozen robots emerged, their blinking red 'eyes' poised on Skipper. But they were less than a few inches tall!

"Is that it?" the penguin scoffed.

Now it was Blowhole's turn to smirk, "Observe." One of the robots stretched out an arm and touched the nearest lamppost. There was a blinding flash of light and where the lamppost once stood, there was only a large, black puddle.

Young Joshua started to wail, the tortured shrieks echoing louder than Skipper thought possible.

"Silence!" Blowhole commanded, "If you cannot shut that insolent pain-gu-in up, I will have to shut it up for you!"

The look in Roberto's eyes was that of absolute terror.

Now Skipper was really mad. As much as he hated the chick, no one threatened an infant on his watch. Mustering up all of his courage (which was quite a lot), he flung himself on Blowhole's face. The dolphin recovered from his initial shock quickly- too quickly.

Skipper suddenly found himself being slapped at by large flippers. Blowhole had the advantage; he was perched steadily on his segway and Skipper was just barely clutching his enemy's head. Already, he was beginning to slide.

He allowed his instincts to take over. And every penguin knows why a pointy beak is stuck on their face.

Skipper jabbed it into the first thing he could; Blowhole's right eye.

The dolphin roared in pain and swatted at the penguin with enough force to send him sprawling across the pavement and into the black puddle. It was still warm.

Dr. Blowhole's eye was literally hanging out of the socket, dangling like a pocket watch. Blood streamed down his face and coated most of his body with streaks of red.

Skipper should have seen it coming. Blowhole had always had a sharp temper. Moving with astonishing speed, the segway rushed forward at, not Skipper, but Roberto. The penguin was trampled, merely because he was the closest.

He didn't have time to check if Roberto was okay. Because at that moment, his nemesis turned to Joshua.

Again relying on instinct, Skipper tossed a flipper full of the melted lamp. He had good aim. The black goop sailed straight into Blowhole's empty eye socket.

He howled with pain. Now turning on Skipper, Blowhole barked over his shoulder, "Finish the baby!"

The robots moved toward Joshua.

"No!" Skipper cried. Dodging Blowhole, he slid next to the chick and hurled him over his flat head.

Joshua soared through the air, still crying, and landed with a splash in the waters of his own habitat. This was a dangerous move as penguins cannot swim until they have grown their adult feathers. But Blowhole knew this as well and would not pursue him there. If only Skipper could send the dolphin away before the chick drowned…

Blowhole smirked. He pressed a button on his segway and immediately, all the robots (who had begun zapping random benches) clanked toward Skipper.

Back in battle stance, he was ready to pull out another eye. But Blowhole wasn't going to make the same mistake twice. The dolphin pulled his segway away from the battle. And the robots started to close in. Skipper was preparing for a hasty retreat when suddenly, he noticed something: The robots' legs were covered in tiny wires.

Moving quicker than he ever had, Skipper threw a roundhouse kick directly at the nearest robot's legs. A sharp cry from Blowhole told him he had done the right thing.

The circuit broken, the robot trembled, a shock of electricity pulsed through it, and then it spontaneously combusted.

Dr. Blowhole looked on speechlessly, his mouth agape. But luck was surely with Skipper that night, for at that moment, he heard the unmistakable sounds of his teammates rousing.

His nemesis heard it too. After what he had seen happen to his robot, Blowhole must have realized that fighting five trained penguins with an eye hanging out of its socket was not wise.

He pressed yet another button and the remaining robots' fronts opened up to reveal what looked like small bombs. They didn't blow anything up, but they released a large cloud of smoke. When it cleared, Blowhole and his minions were gone.

Coughing and swatting the air with his flipper, Skipper ran to Roberto's side. Never had he seen a paler penguin. Even though he was covered in white feathers, Roberto had obviously lost a lot of blood. His eyes were glazed, but they could focus on Skipper.

"Joshua!" he choked.

"He's fine," Skipper assured him. He knew that one of his teammates, probably his first lieutenant, Johnson, had saved the chick. Roberto was in worse condition. "You'll be fine too," This was the first time Skipper had ever lied.

Roberto shook his head. Speaking was painful for him. "Train him!" he rasped, "Don't let him be like me. Let him…be able to save the ones he loves."

Kowalski might have told him it was an anatomical impossibility, but he was sure a tear slipped down his beak. "I will," And he meant it with all his heart.

Roberto nodded, shuddered, and then was still. Skipper wiped away his tear. He grabbed a large bandanna from the nearest bench and wrapped him in it. Shoving aside some loose dirt from the zoo garden, Skipper made the smallest, most pitiful grave ever made. But it was all that could be done without attracting unwanted attention.

Suddenly, Skipper had stood up straight. He marched towards his habitat with new purpose. Just as he expected, his team was standing on the concrete platform. Joshua was huddled between Rico and Manfredi.

The question did not need to be asked; it was shown clearly in every penguin's face. Skipper did not volunteer an answer. Instead, he wrapped a flipper around the chick's shoulders.

"You're a tough one, aren't you?" he said, mostly to himself, "Well, let's see how you do in basic training tomorrow at 06 00 hours…Private."

This memory was reassuring to Skipper. Hadn't he trained Private since he was a few weeks old? Hadn't he become one of the most loyal members of the team?

But Private had never once questioned his heritage. Why should he? For as long as he could remember, Skipper had been there telling him that he was sent in as an egg to be their new recruit. Private never would know that his real father was not a faceless penguin from the Hoboken Zoo.

Skipper didn't believe genetics had anything to do with combat skills. "It is how you are trained that matters!" he would scold when Kowalski complained that he came from a long line of brains, not brawns.

There would be no repeat of that fateful night nine years ago. Skipper would not see his old friend's son in the same position Roberto had been in. Blowhole could not get Joshua this time. Because Joshua wasn't just Joshua, son of Roberto. No, he was Private, trained member of the Central Park Zoo unit.

"Come on, men," Skipper called bravely, "We have an enemy to beat!" As the team waddled out of the zoo, Skipper paused momentarily at Roberto's sad little grave. The zookeepers had not touched it, as far as he knew. Far below him, his old companion lay, blissfully unaware that his son was about to face the dolphin that had cost him his life. But Skipper hoped he knew that while blood still ran through his veins, Private would not meet the same doom. Roberto would be avenged.


	2. A Journey and a Job

"Skippa?" Private said through his beak, "Just how long do we have to stay like this?"

The team was seated in a large pile of beanie babies at the LaGuardia souvenir stand.

"Just until our plane comes in, Private," the leader answered.

"Well, who's idea was it to show up three hours early?" Johnson complained, "I can't feel my…uh, never mind," he said, seeing Private staring at him intently.

"Well excuse me for taking precautionary measures!" Manfredi retorted, "Wouldn't you rather be safe than sorry?" The tension in the stand was beginning to rise.

"Ten bucks on Johnson!" Rico whispered to Skipper. He was immediately slapped.

"Hey, knock it off, you two!"

Skipper's words had no impact on Manfredi and Johnson, whose quarrel was beginning to drift away from the original purpose.

"First Lieutenant my foot!"

"Mama's boy!"

"You're not fit to go on this mission!"

"You'll be dolphin food before we even get there!"

"IF YOU TWO DON'T SHUT UP, NO ONE GOES ON THE DEADLY MISSION!" Skipper roared. His soldiers were immediately silenced.

"Er, Skipper?" Kowalski pointed to the humans passing by. Almost all of them were cleaning out their ears or glancing curiously at the stand.

"Right," Skipper said. If he was embarrassed, he didn't show it, "Shush!"

At that moment, a toneless, female voice came over the loudspeaker, "Three o' clock flight to Washington now boarding at gate eight. Three o' clock flight to Washington now boarding."

"That's us, boys!" the penguins slid out of the stand and managed to make it to gate eight without being seen.

"Skipper?" Kowalski said tentatively, "Just how do you expect to get us on the plane without being spotted?" The rest of the team stared at their leader; this was obviously on their minds as well.

"Wait for it!" Skipper peeked out from beneath the chair they were hiding behind.

A man in a business suit was running to catch the plane. He was carrying a huge duffel; easily large enough to hold six penguins. And the fool had left it only half zipped.

"Now!" Skipper cried. The team leapt in with perfect timing and the man, in his hurry, didn't even notice.

Inside the bag, they exchanged high fives. "Excellent job, men!" Skipper congratulated them. He slapped Private sharply across the face.

"Ow!" the young penguin complained, "What was that for? Sir!" he added hastily.

"Nothing, Private," Skipper said, "Just thought I saw a bug!" In truth, Private had strayed dangerously close to several copies of Playboy. Rico and Johnson were already trying to sneak toward them. They were also slapped.

Suddenly, they heard a young female voice, "Welcome aboard!"

"Franklin Pierce! We're in!" Skipper cried, "Out, men, out!" The team quickly jumped in an open overhead compartment. They backed into the shadows as large bags were tossed hurriedly next to them. Or in Private's case, on them.

"Ooof!" Private gasped as the small duffel landed on his back, knocking the wind out of him, "This thing….weighs a TON!"

"Now you know how I feel every day," Rico said bitterly. This was the longest he had gone without his pack since he joined the team. He felt like a part of him had been ripped away, like his heart or a kidney! But of course, there was no way around it. Blowhole had made it very clear that the pack was not welcome on this mission. Skipper placed his flipper on Rico's shoulder.

"Don't worry, Rico, Operation: Cheat Death will be over before you know it!" It was a very cheery sentence for a very formidable mission.

By mentioning the penguins' death constantly in his note, Dr. Blowhole had attempted to terrify the team: He had succeeded. Even cocky Johnson was silent as the plane slowly took off. The compartment was dark, but if they could see out the window, they would watch as the New York skyline grew further and further away; and the team could only wonder if they would ever see it again.

The plane ride lasted only about forty minutes. In that time, Skipper went over the plan what felt like a million times: They would meet Blowhole, fight him/ foil his plan, and, hopefully, arrive home safe and sound. It was a vague plan, but what else could they do? They had no way of knowing what was coming and therefore their chances of beating him were slim. The team supposed that was what the dolphin had intended.

When the plane touched down in Washington, the penguins were cramped, tired, and frightened. But they still had a mission. By the time they had sneaked out of the airport, it was four-fifteen.

Skipper decided that their best weapon was the element of surprise. They would have the upper flipper when they arrived three hours before Dr. Blowhole expected them. "Kowalski, give me options on possible transportation to Pennsylvania Avenue!" Skipper barked.

"I'm on it, Skipper," Kowalski said, whipping out his clipboard, "We set off a dangerous amount of fireworks! Then, while the humans are distracted, we sneak into Andrews Air Force Base, hijack Air Force One, and ride in luxury to the White House!"

"That or we could take the Metro!" Private pointed out.

"Hmm," Skipper said, "Well, as much as I would like to hijack Air Force One again, I'm going to have to go with Private's option, Kowalski." The tall penguin hung his head.

They slid through the dark station, avoiding human feet, just in time to get on the Blue train. The team had cleaner accommodations on the plane. Underneath the seats, the penguins found a) Twelve pieces of chewed bubble gum, b) Enough lint to make a sweater, and c) An abandoned visitors guide to the National Museum of Crime and Punishment (which they all examined thoroughly).

Luckily, fifteen minutes later the Metro came to a halt and the large sign outside verified that they had reached their destination. Kowalski picked up a map on their way out.

"Well, if we turn approximately 50 degrees southwest, we should reach the White House after about 0.175 miles." he said. For a penguin, 0.175 miles is almost nothing while belly-sliding. But this time, that was a bad thing. There was no turning back now.

All the penguins but Private had been to the White House before. Never had it seemed as ominous as it did now. Almost immediately, they came across Secret Service agent. She was knocked out before she even knew there were birds on the premises.

"Now how's THAT for National Security?" Skipper joked while the team exchanged high fives again.

Strangely, they didn't come across another guard. Skipper blamed Blowhole while Private was secretly thankful they didn't have to disable another agent.

"Skipper," Manfredi asked once they got to the front doors, "Dr. Blowhole didn't tell us exactly where in the White House he was going to meet us. I mean, the building is huge!"

"Yes, it is exactlysix stories and has 55,000 ft² of floor space, 132 rooms and 35 bathrooms, 412 doors, 147 windows, twenty-eight fireplaces, eight staircases, three elevators, a tennis court, a bowling alley, a movie theater, a jogging track, a swimming pool, and a putting green. That and incredibly comfortable beds." Kowalski confirmed. The team stared at him; Private in awe; Skipper's expression of utter disgust.

"How many White House facts did you memorize, soldier?"

Kowalski looked uncomfortable, "Erm, before or after it became vital information?"

Rico laughed, "That's our egghead, always wasting his time with one thing or another!"

Kowalski growled, "Well, at least I don't suck my flipper!"

"That's classified information!"

"Dimwit!"

"Coward!"

"Does this scene look familiar to you?" Private asked Skipper with a sideways glance at Manfredi and Johnson.

"Come on, men, we're on a mis-SIIIIIIIIIOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNN!" Suddenly, a trapdoor directly underneath them opened up and they immediately fell down into the darkness.

They landed with a thud. No one had made any attempt to soften the fall. They could not see anything but they could hear. They heard the crazed laughter coming from directly in front of them.

"Blowhole," Skipper said. And it was. As the lights came on, they could see the dolphin towering over them.

"So kind of you to join me, pain-gu-ins," he said, in a voice that oozed false hospitality, "You are a tad early."

"Well, we just couldn't WAIT to see you, Blowhole," Skipper said sarcastically, "New eyepiece?" he added, noting the robotic attachment his nemesis had made to his right eye.

The robotic eye rotated in its socket. Dr. Blowhole's cocky grin vanished, and was replaced by a scowl. "Don't test your luck, Skipper," he warned. He pressed a button on his segway and, suddenly, the penguins were fastened tightly against a wall.

"Now," Blowhole began, but was quickly interrupted by a high pitched voice from another chamber.

"Oh, Jaaaames!"

Blowhole grimaced, and shot the team a look that was- could it be- embarrassed? "What is it dear? I'm a little busy!"

A pretty, female dolphin poked her head out of a large pool of water in the center of the room. She looked toward the penguins and smiled, "Oh, I didn't know you had prisoners!"

Blowhole sighed, "Doris, how could you NOT know, I've been planning this for weeks!"

She shrugged, "I guess I forgot. Anyway, I brought you some of that special moisturizer you like."

"Put it in the bathroom, and I'll get to it later!" he looked back at his prisoners, "Now where was I?"

"Well, it would be rather kind of you to tell us why we're here," Private offered.

Blowhole turned to him, "Well, well, well, this must be young Joshua!"

Private looked genuinely confused, "What? No- I'm Private, my name's Private!"

Dr. Blowhole grinned and looked at Skipper, "You never told him?"

"Just get to the point!" Skipper said hastily. He had avoided the truth this long; he could avoid it now.

"Well, to answer PRIVATE'S question, you are here plainly because I need you disposed of. And also: I have a task for you. I see you have already met Doris, who is my new-"

"Girlfriend!" Doris piped up.

"Right," Blowhole said, "Girlfriend. Anyway, a few nights ago, her segway hit a rock, and its power source fell into the Anacostia River. I need you to retrieve it."

"The WHAT river?" Johnson asked. He was a rather large penguin, and the cuffs on the trap were far too tight. He was in a very bad mood.

"The Anacostia River is known as "The Forgotten River", Kowalski explained, "Mainly because of the high levels of pollution; most of which is raw sewage."

"You want us to swim in Washington's toilet?" Manfredi was appalled.

"You are pain-gu-ins," Blowhole said innocently, "I would think you could survive any water."

"Not happenin'," Skipper said, "If you're so desperate to fix your love interest's segway, get it yourself."

"I don't think you quite understand," Blowhole said, "You don't really have a say in this matter. You WILL help me. Or else."

"Or else what?" Skipper smirked.

Blowhole pressed a button on his segway. There was an unmistakable clang of cuffs being released. Skipper fell to the ground and struck his battle pose. Around him, the rest of the team did so as well.

But he hadn't accounted for the penguin that was too often forgotten.

Private had not been released.

Blowhole was slowly moving towards him. And the last time Skipper had seen that look in his nemesis's eye, he had lost his best friend.


	3. Hopeless Situations

Thank you for the amazing reviews, Metallica1147, Perrylover14, GrandOldPenguin, and Pip4! I really appreciate it! This chapter's a little short, but the next two are super long! Enjoy!

"Um, excuse me, Dr. Blowhole?" Private said, "I-I'm still stuck here!"

"Oh, I know, Private," he responded, "I know."

"Hey, let the private go, Blowhole!" Skipper ordered.

The dolphin bowed mockingly, "Your wish is my command, Skipper!" At that moment, the floor began to tremble. The penguins hit the floor, and Kowalski screamed; but Dr. Blowhole just stood there, completely calm, his gaze never leaving Private's face.

Suddenly, a gigantic, clear cylinder rose from directly beneath the trap. The cuffs were released and Private fell into it with a shriek. Before the team could react, they saw a lid close over the top, heard a loud _click!_ and knew that it had been sealed.

Skipper rose, "What do you think you're doing, man!"

Blowhole smiled, "Perhaps you pain-gu-ins are unfamiliar with the term 'hostage'?"

"A person given or held as security for the fulfillment of certain conditions, terms, promises, etc., by another person." Kowalski recited, almost robotically.

"You think putting Private in an elaborate trap will make us swim in a polluted river?" Johnson asked, "Forget it!"

"Oh, but it is far more than a trap!" Blowhole smirked, "See for yourself!" He gestured towards the cylinder. At first, the penguins saw nothing out of the ordinary. Suddenly, Private's eyes widened with shock, he started beating his flippers against the glass and was obviously screaming at the top of his lungs (the glass was too thick to hear anything).

A steady stream of water was running down the sides of the trap.

Blowhole laughed as realization swept over the teams' faces. "Ironic, isn't it, Skipper?" he said, "The water that once saved him will now be his undoing!"

"You fiend," Skipper said.

Blowhole leaned toward them, "What do you say to my little task now? In exactly fifty-seven minutes, that tank will be completely saturated. And he can't hold his breath forever," he began to ride closer to the tank, "Oh, and one more thing: Don't even TRY to get him out of there."

"What do you think is going to stop us?" Rico said.

"Oh, I have a few toys that I suppose Skipper will recall quiiiiiiite clearly."

"And I suppose YOU'LL recall how I kicked their butts!" Skipper retorted.

"Well, I did make some minor adjustments…" Blowhole let his sentence hang for dramatic effect.

"Oh, really," Skipper smirked, "And what would those be?"

Suddenly, his eyes opened wide. His beak hung open and he made strangled noises in his throat.

The robots stood behind Dr. Blowhole.

They looked exactly the same as the ones that Skipper had met so many years ago.

Except there were only two of them.

And they were ten feet tall.

The rest of the team was also horrified. Both Kowalski and Manfredi looked ready to faint, Rico was shaking uncontrollably, and Johnson was trying to act like he wasn't impressed while hyperventilating loudly. Blowhole laughed at the penguins' terrified expressions.

"Actually, the robots are only a precautionary measure. If I DO catch you misbehaving on your mission, I need only to press this button," he pointed to a small blue button on the side of the cylinder, "And the tank will flood immediately. After that, Private will have only minutes." He laughed again, his head thrown back. When he finally composed himself, he went on, "So, do we have a deal? Who knows? Maybe I'll even set the boy free."

As much as he hated Blowhole, Skipper had to admit, he was a genius. He had figured out his weakness. His team vanished. It was just him and Blowhole. And the memory of a dying Roberto.

"We're in."

"Watch the monitor!" Dr. Blowhole commanded. A large screen in the back of the lair showed a small grey sphere. It had a light green glow and was labeled with details that probably only Kowalski could understand. "The power source should look like this and it is roughly the size of a softball. I have tracked its location based on the time and place it entered the current and the depth of the water in that area. It should be somewhere in the center of the Northeast Branch; most likely at the very bottom."

"Doesn't sound too difficult," Skipper said.

The team didn't see Blowhole wink at Doris.

"Doris!" he shouted, "Bring me the box!"

"The yellow box or the green box?"

"The one that DOESN'T contain the dental floss!"

"Oh, I was wondering why you would want that." She quickly swam away. When Dr. Blowhole turned back toward the team, Kowalski was wearing a smirk that bore an eerie resemblance to Skipper's.

"Quite the genius you've got there, eh Bottlenose?"

The dolphin blushed faintly, "Well, I do have an attraction to ignorant mammals."

"So, what's in the box?" Manfredi changed the subject. But Doris returned at that moment and his question was answered. She held a large green box between her teeth and when Blowhole opened it, Kowalski gave a shrill squeal.

"That's state of the art tracking technology! Where did you find them?"

"I didn't find them," he answered, "Unlike more inferior scientists, I have the ability to MAKE my own devices, not use the inventions of others."

Now it was Kowalski's turn to blush.

Blowhole told the penguins to form a straight line. His flipper was poised over the blue button and the robots clanked their hands together menacingly. So the team stood still as Blowhole meticulously attached the tracking devices to their ankles.

"Now pay attention!" the screen's image changed and now showed five glowing red dots, "During your mission, I will be monitoring your every move, so I will know if you decide to run away," he grinned at this, "Do not attempt to disable the trackers in any way. If they are even dented, a small, internal bomb will detonate."

"Little harsh, don't you think?" Manfredi asked.

"Not really," Blowhole replied, "I expect you won't tamper with them. And," he continued, "These sludge- resistant goggles should allow for maximum visibility." The dolphin threw them at their feet.

"No problem," Skipper said once they had all adjusted their eyewear, "Compared to what we've faced, this is a piece of cake, right boys?"

"It should be," Blowhole said earnestly. A little TOO earnestly.

"Well, then, what are we waiting for?" Rico asked. "The sooner we leave, the sooner we can get Private out of that damn trap!" He was taking advantage of the ability to swear; Skipper was very firm about language in front of Private.

"Very well," Blowhole said, "Stand on that platform where you most humorously fell in and it should lift you back up."

"Roger that, Blowhole," Skipper said as the team stepped onto the platform.

"And be careful with the-" Doris's words were cut off when Dr. Blowhole clamped his flipper over her mouth. But it was unnecessary. The team had already left.

After another brief Metro ride, the penguins were standing at the Northeast branch of the Anacostia. They were holding their breaths. The putrid air reminded them too well of the Manhattan sewer they often frequented. As if that weren't bad enough, the surface of the water was coated with a thin layer of old cans and bottles. Basically, it was a floating trash can.

"We are going to be sick for WEEKS!" Manfredi exclaimed, "But it's worth it!" he added hastily.

"Well, soldiers, there's no time like the present!" Skipper said, "On my mark! DIVE!"

And that's just what they did. Of course, penguins are experts at not breathing in any water. But that didn't make the swim any more pleasant. The water was deep brown, nearly black, and had more garbage than a suburban landfill. Swimming was difficult because the water was nearly as thick as molasses. Even with Blowhole's goggles, the water appeared a murky green. Appetizing. The team could barely make out each other's silhouettes.

'Kowalski,' Skipper signed. Penguins can't speak underwater, so they use sign language to communicate, 'Status report!'

'No sign of the power source yet, sir,' Kowalski replied, 'Although, if my calculations are correct, we should reach the bottom of the river momentarily.' A few minutes later, Johnson's beak hit what was possibly once a sandy floor.

'Spread out men!' Skipper ordered. The team searched for what seemed like an hour. Skipper couldn't stop thinking of that glass trap, which was probably now more than half full. Poor Private, he must be sick with fear, his remaining baby fuzz weighing him down terribly. Skipper began to search faster. Then, Manfredi starting waving at him franticly.

'Skipper!' he signed, 'I think I've found it!'

'With your eyesight, it's probably just a tire!' Johnson scoffed. Johnson was normally insecure, but now, swimming in gallons of raw sewage, he felt like a complete idiot.

'It fits Blowhole's picture perfectly,' Manfredi replied, 'Come on, I'll show you!'

He swam off into the muck. Sure enough, slightly concealed behind a soggy magazine was the power source. Drunk on his own success, Manfredi swam off towards it. In his peripheral vision, Skipper could see Kowalski suddenly squint, obviously in deep concentration. Suddenly, his eyes widened and, all sign language forgotten, he shouted, "No!" Bubbles flew rapidly from his beak. But it was too late.

Manfredi roughly yanked up the power source and stared at it, a huge grin spreading across his face. But his happy expression was almost immediately replaced by one of horror. The power source began to glow even brighter and vibrated.

Now it was Skipper's turn to shout. It was incomprehensible, but even a rookie would have recognized it as an order of retreat. Skipper, Rico, Kowalski, and Johnson swam away at (according to Kowalski) 87 mph, top speed for a penguin.

But Skipper made the mistake of looking back. He saw what he knew would join Roberto in images that were permanently burned into his memory: Manfredi stood paralyzed as the power source stopped trembling for a split second before the filthy water exploded around him.


	4. The Final Battle

Skipper surfaced, greedily gulping air. The stink made him retch, but he was too worried to care. His team bobbed up beside him. The first thing he noticed was that Rico had a firm hold on Johnson.

"Manfredi!" Johnson screamed, "We have to go back and look for him."

"Calm down," Rico said.

"I will not calm down!" he shrieked, "We're a team, we have to stay together! Remember the penguin credo: Never swim alone!"

Skipper realized that, without Rico to hold him back, Johnson probably would have dived back under.

"It's too late for that now," Rico said, "Dr. Blowhole tricked us."

"Tell me something I don't know!" Johnson shouted, "If we survived the explosion, he probably did too!"

"Johnson," Kowalski said gently, "I'm afraid there's 0.01% chance Manfredi survived."

"And why is that?"

"When the power source exploded, it most likely damaged his tracking device. It must have detonated."

Johnson was silent, but his face was a pained mixture of grief and pure, undiluted anger. Without warning, he threw his head back and screamed, "DAMN YOU, BLOWHOLE!" Then he was silent once more. When he spoke again his voice was softer, "I swear…when we get back to his lair, I will destroy him." Skipper realized that, since he had been recruited, Johnson had never cried. Then again, he had never lost his best friend before. The team quickly swam ashore.

"A moment of silence," Skipper said, "For a fallen hero." The team was quiet for a minute and then they each said a few words. Johnson was last.

"I know we bickered," Johnson said in a low voice, "But he was my brother. Manfredi was always there, looking out for us. He-he cared so much.

And wherever he is right now, I'm sure he will still be looking out for us, still acting as the angel on our shoulders, stopping us when we do stupid, senseless things. I'll miss you, buddy. Rest in peace."

No one spoke after that. Then Skipper raised his head.

"C'mon, men," he said, "We've got a score to settle."

"Ah," Dr. Blowhole said as he stared down at the filth soaked penguins before him, "There's no sweeter sight than five penguins returning from a mission."

Skipper threw his goggles on the floor of the lair, "Count again, Blowhole."

The dolphin feigned shock, "Really? I had no idea." Then he laughed.

Johnson's flippers clenched into fists, "You tricked us."

"It was simpler than I thought. Although I am a tad ashamed of Kowalski," the tallest penguin stiffened, "He should have known how easily a power source can explode when handled carelessly."

"Did you plant it there just to blow us up?" Skipper asked.

Dr. Blowhole shook his head, "No, my story was true. Doris DID drop the power source in the river. I had been searching for a proper way to kill you. It's not enough to shoot you or burn you or impale you on spikes while carnivorous worms eat out your intestines," the team flinched, "I wanted more. I wanted to see the look of horror on your faces when you realized what was wrong with the power source. I wanted to watch as your tracking device exploded, sending different parts of your bodies on different directions. And," he continued with a truly mad look in his eyes, "I wanted to make Private watch as his team- his leader- died before his very eyes. And then I had special torture planned for him. Oh yes, I wanted to finish the job I started nine years ago.

I am disappointed that it was Manfredi alone who was killed. I was hoping you would all join the sewage at the bottom of the river. And if only one could be destroyed, I would have wanted it to be Skipper or even Kowalski. Manfredi was just a gnat! But no matter. I daresay little Manfredi will have some company in a few minutes."

Skipper saw Johnson begin to tremble uncontrollably. A low growl was coming from deep within his throat. For this reason and his own vow, he changed the subject.

"We had a deal, Blowhole," he reminded Blowhole, "Now let Private go."

Private had stopped screaming, but his eyes were still wide. The tank was almost filled, but Skipper was proud to see that Private was holding his own. His down feathers WERE making it difficult to tread water, but he managed to keep his beak just above the water.

Dr. Blowhole didn't answer. Instead, he calmly rode over to the tank, and pressed the blue button.

Immediately, a huge wave of water crashed down on Private's beak. The young penguin was thrown nearly to the bottom of the tank.

"Private!" the whole team gasped. Blowhole merely smirked. Bubbles were flying out of his mouth as he screamed; every second losing more and more of his precious oxygen. And that's when all Hell broke loose.

Dr. Blowhole yelled, "Attaaaaaaaaack!" and the robots moved forward with surprising speed.

"Stay away from the hands!" Skipper cried to his team. He wasn't ready to lose two team members on the same mission. But Fate never cares about our needs, does it?

It was all the penguins could do to dodge the robotic arms, which were now glowing with electricity.

"The legs!" Skipper screamed, "Aim for the legs!" They WERE still the same robots. Skipper was certain Dr. Blowhole used the same blueprints as before. After all, you have a weapon the size of a small car, why worry about a tiny glitch? And he would be right to think that.

For all the years the team spent training for this type of action, they were doing poorly: very, very poorly.

Johnson smacked one of the robot's legs, using his trademark punch. That move had once knocked Rico out cold for 31 hours, but the robot brushed him off like a fly.

Rico had found a grenade somewhere in Dr. Blowhole's lair and rolled it under a robot's legs. When it exploded, the robot turned toward him, but was only a little annoyed. It wasn't damaged at all.

Kowalski (after analyzing the situation carefully, of course) had somehow managed to climb up on a robot's head and had almost succeeded in destroying some wires before the robot flung him off. He hit a nearby wall so hard, they heard the cement crack. Kowalski looked dazed and was muttering something about tuna under his breath.

Skipper didn't have time to see if Kowalski was all right. He was headed straight for the tank. Private was still beating at the glass, but his punches were growing feebler and his eyes were half closed. The robots were busy with Johnson, Rico, and Kowalski, and didn't notice Skipper sliding away.

When he reached the tank, Skipper paused momentarily to nod at Private. He prayed that his expression didn't show how terrified he was. Then, summoning up all the strength he had left, Skipper smashed the glass with both flippers curled into fists. The glass should have shattered. Instead, a shrill siren went off. The good news: The robots moved away from Rico, Johnson, and Kowalski: The bad news? They turned towards Skipper.

The team was exhausted and sported numerous cuts and bruises (and Kowalski had a reasonably large lump on his head) but still they rushed to Skipper's aid and the battle resumed.

Dr. Blowhole and Doris just stood in the shadows and watched the team's struggle with smug smiles.

Skipper glanced towards the tank and froze: Private was definitely unconscious now. He was in the bottom of the tank, his head sagging and his flippers limp. But in the split second that he was paralyzed, one robot kicked Rico aside and swung his glowing arm at Skipper. If Kowalski had not pushed him out of harm's way, he would have been vaporized. The arm smashed down where the leader had been only seconds ago, and it sunk through the floor.

"Skipper!" Kowalski panted, "We…can't…beat them!"

"We have to keep _trying_ men!" Skipper said. Johnson and Rico were looking on as well. They were both nearly dropping with fatigue and their eyes were bloodshot, "Just-just think of Private in that tank! At least for his sake we must be strong." At Private's name, Skipper thought he saw a light shine in Rico's eyes. But he didn't have time to ask him about it.

The robots were moving towards them once again. Skipper took a running start, and threw himself at a leg of the closest robot. The minute he collided with the steel, he knew something was wrong. He definitely knew something had broken, but he had a sickening feeling that it wasn't the robot.

Skipper fell off the robot's leg and instantly, pain engulfed him. His left flipper was twisted at an odd angle, and his right leg was bent backward. His head and chest ached and he feared he might have broken a rib or two. The team stopped what they were doing and rushed to help him, but Skipper cried, "No! I'm fine! Get the robots!"

They hesitated but they knew better than to disobey a direct order. The robots hesitated as well. They probably wanted to go after the wounded penguin, but they eventually decided that the greater threat was the penguins that could still fight.

A second later, Kowalski fell next to Skipper. One of a robot's hands had grazed his neck and given him a slight electric shock. Skipper was relieved when he didn't hear Kowalski babbling nonsense. Then again, he realized that he couldn't hear Kowalski saying ANYTHING and if he weren't twitching, Skipper would have thought he was dead.

'Four down,' Skipper thought miserably, 'Two to go.' This battle might have been lost if the two left were anyone but Rico and Johnson.

At that moment, the robots opened up their front panels and Skipper's eyes widened.

"HIT THE DIRT!" Then the bombs exploded. Skipper and Kowalski were thrown against one wall, and Rico and Johnson were thrown against another. But as the latter clutched their heads, Rico whispered something in Johnson's ear-hole. Dr. Blowhole didn't notice, but even if he had, Skipper knew that it would mean nothing to him. Because only a person who had trained with them would understand the look that passed between them: It said, 'For Manfredi.'

Rico and Johnson dodged one of the robots and slid toward the tank. They didn't look back and, thankfully, neither did the robots. But Skipper saw them perfectly.

"Men!" Skipper cried. His voice was weak, but he still had a responsibility to look after his team. "Get back here! The tank is too strong and you'll just set off the alarm again!" But secretly, Skipper was proud that they were making Private their top priority. At least if- if he didn't make it, Private would be in good hands.

He didn't have much time to think about it. The robots were not weakened at all by their efforts, and showed no mercy to one immobilized penguin and another who was unconscious. They were moving in on them fast

Suddenly, the robots stopped. Skipper shook his head twice and realized that the alarm had sounded. When he turned toward the tank, to his horror, he saw Rico and Johnson perched on top of the tank. But they weren't trying to open it. They were-could it be? - egging the robots on!

"Hey metal-mouth!" Johnson called over the siren, "Wassa mattah? Too fast for ya?"

"Can't vaporize an elite force?" Rico yelled, "Or are you just not powerful enough?"

"Maybe their inventor is too dumb, Rico."

"Maybe you're right, Johnson."

"Hey booooooooooooootlenose!"

That did it. Dr. Blowhole's face turned bright crimson. "Destroy them!" he ordered. The robots moved forward quicker than Skipper had ever seen them move. He knew that they would get to his teammates in a matter of seconds.

"Johnson!" he shouted, "Rico! Jump! Retreat!" But they pretended not to hear him. Then he realized what they intended to do. Time slowed down. The robots were getting closer to the tank: They were three steps away, two steps, one.

"NO!" Skipper screamed.

The robots collided with the tank with a CRASH! The glass broke, and water gushed over them. Private's limp body was thrown across the lair. The air smelt like burnt rubber and electricity crackled all around them. Rico and Johnson leaped into the air. But they waited a second too long.

For the second time that day, an explosion shook the Earth. Skipper grabbed Kowalski and tried his best to protect him. The robots made a grinding sound and several bombs detonated at once. Giant chunks of metal flew in every direction. Dark, foul smelling smoke filled the lair. Skipper heard Dr. Blowhole shriek, "DORIS!"

Water coated the floor, swirling around Skipper's body. It was not deep enough to drown him, but he still would feel better if he could stand. He swatted the air with his flipper. His heart beat quickened. Something was familiar about this scene but he was too overwhelmed by the pain to think clearly. Beside him, Skipper heard Kowalski cough and saw water gush out of his mouth. Across the lair, Private was on his belly and unmoving. But it was the other two he was most worried about.

"Rico!" Skipper cried franticly, "Johnson!" He was about to crawl toward the large pile of metal and glass when he heard an electronic buzzing. Skipper turned and saw Dr. Blowhole turning away from Doris who was lying on the ground, unconscious. He pressed a button on his segway, and a glass bubble grew around him. Dr. Blowhole started to fly away, leaving Doris behind. Luckily, he was in too much of a hurry to activate a self destruct button.

Skipper started to try and follow him, but something held him back. He turned and saw Kowalski's flipper clamped tightly around his shoulder. His face was grimly set, but his eyes bored into Skipper's.

"No," he said, "It's over."


	5. Standing Tall

Whoa, sorry for the late updating. I've been vacationing in Utah. Anyway, this is the final chapter, and it's super long! Not as action packed as the last one, but this is more of a sad, conversation-like chapter. There's also a lot of medical stuff, but I'm not a doctor nor am I as smart as Kowalski, so there might be some faulty information. Well, it's probably more realistic than most of the stuff in the show! Enjoy, and thank you for reading There is a Reason. I had a lot of fun with it.

The next few minutes were a blur for Skipper. Kowalski told him to lie down. Then, the tallest penguin rose shakily to his feet and walked toward a small puddle where an unconscious Private lay. Skipper's vision was getting blurry and the floor of the lair was rocking violently. His world was just a haze of pain and blood and water. And now only pure darkness as his head hit the hardness of the floor and Skipper blacked out.

When he woke, Skipper was very confused. He wasn't on the cold, concrete floor of Dr. Blowhole's lair anymore, but he could see that he was still in the same room. He was lying on what felt like a cot. Skipper never liked to sleep on a soft surface, but it was oddly comforting now. He could tell the filth from the Anacostia River had been carefully scrubbed off. Skipper was glad because the sewage was making his skin itch. Then he examined the rest of his body.

His left flipper felt strangely heavy, and when he pulled it up close to his eyes, Skipper saw that it was covered in a thick plaster cast. He couldn't feel his right leg at all. Then he turned to his left.

Private was lying on an identical cot next to him. Skipper was glad to see that his chest was heaving in a steady rhythm, but his face! It wasn't injured much except for the scratches left by broken glass. It was only that at this moment, Private looked so much like the last time Skipper had seen the boy's father. The paled face and the beak that was slightly open.

Skipper jerked his head to the right and immediately wished he hadn't. For on two large cots were Rico and Johnson. They were both hooked up to a number of machines; Skipper could only recognize them from some hospital TV shows. But from one look at his teammates, he could tell that they were all necessary.

Most of their feathers had been burnt away and revealed skin that was charcoal black. They were both covered with long, red gashes that had been hastily stitched up. Rico had the worst: A long cut that slashed through his beak and was deeper than any other wound Skipper had ever seen. He winced. That would definitely leave a scar. If it could heal. He also had a bandage wrapped tightly around his head, like a turban. But these injuries paled in comparison to Johnson's.

A huge, white bandage was wrapped around his chest, and on his left side, blood had stained the cloth. Both of his flippers were coated with a foul smelling green ointment that was not opaque enough to conceal its purpose: third degree burns covered Johnson's flippers, many of them yellow and oozing pus; but even more terrible were the burns that had sunk right through his skin and showed the bone!

"Horrifying, isn't it?" The sudden voice made him jump. Skipper hadn't seen Kowalski sit on the edge of his cot. He was glad to see that he was practically unharmed except for the lump on his head; and even that was shrinking. There were many questions that Skipper could have asked at that moment, but he chose the simplest one. "Where did you get all of that equipment?"

Kowalski chuckled and Skipper felt his heart ache: It was a grim, empty sound and he wondered if Kowalski would ever be the same after this mission. If anything would ever be the same.

"Well, I suppose we can thank Dr. Blowhole for those," Kowalski said, "His lair was full of medical supplies. It would seem that he's a little paranoid about getting hurt."

"That would explain why he's always running away," Skipper responded. It was a feeble attempt at humor, but at that moment he would give anything for Kowalski just to smile again. But there were more serious topics that needed to be discussed.

"How are they?" Skipper didn't know who he meant: Private, Rico, Johnson- or maybe even himself. His injuries were minor, he was certain. He'd had worse in his life. But he had already lost Manfredi. Could he stand it if he lost someone else?

"Well, Private is showing definite signs of improvement," Kowalski answered, "He should regain consciousness in a few hours. He was just in a state of shock and swallowed a bit too much water. But the others-" Kowalski paused, "I-I just don't know."

'There's a first,' Skipper thought. Out loud he said, "What REALLY happened to them?" The last moments of their mission were still a blur for him.

"Well, their plan would have been genius," Kowalski sighed, "I just wished they could have jumped off before the robots hit the tank. The robots were very much like the power source: They would explode if they were hurt in any way," Skipper nodded, remembering the miniature versions, "We couldn't do anything," Kowalski continued, "We weren't strong enough. But the tank was.

No matter what I told Johnson, Manfredi probably didn't survive the explosion itself. He was too close. Now, imagine that explosion on a much larger scale. If Rico and Johnson were as close to the robots as Manfredi was to the power source, they would have been killed instantly. They were lucky." Again, Skipper nodded. But he wasn't sure that was a blessing. Didn't that mean that Rico and Johnson would just have to suffer more before they died? Skipper pushed that thought out of his mind. They WOULD live because they were HIS team. But something was still bothering him.

"Why is Johnson so much worse?" As soon as Skipper asked this question, he regretted it. The tallest penguin's eyes filled with tears.

"Johnson probably could have gotten away," Kowalski was half-whispering, "He's faster than all of us. But Rico freezes up in the face of direct danger. You remember our Hawaiian vacation." Skipper remembered how that shark would have swallowed Rico whole if Manfredi hadn't pushed him away. He also remembered the look in Kowalski's eyes when he swore to kill that shark sooner or later. It was similar to his expression now. "When Rico froze, Johnson didn't run away. Instead, he covered up Rico with his body, taking a lot of the damage."

Roberto's words came back to him, _"It was love, Skipper, a thing you'll never understand."_ He understood love now. He understood that love could make a penguin risk everything for his teammate. And now, he thought about his relationship with Private. How did he FEEL about him? And the answer came to him in an instant: He loved Private. Skipper loved him like a son. But would he risk everything for him?

'Yes,' Skipper thought firmly, 'I would.' He noticed Kowalski staring at him; he was still talking but had obviously realized that Skipper's focus was elsewhere.

"So, how are they?" Skipper repeated, this time hoping for more specific information about Rico and Johnson.

"Not so good, I'm afraid," Kowalski replied, "That gash on Rico's beak is severe, I won't lie to you. But as long as it does not become infected, it should not be fatal. But Rico does have a major concussion. Later today, I'll start testing him for brain damage. I believe that, during the explosion, Rico and Johnson were separated. Rico must have smashed into the ceiling head-first," Skipper winced just thinking about the pain his teammate must have been in. But Kowalski put his flipper on his shoulder, "If it is any consolation, Skipper, they were probably both unconscious at the time. That sulfuric smoke was enough to knock out a full-grown human. It's a wonder we didn't pass out.

And, like you said, Johnson is much worse. The pain from those burns will be intense, but he's been injected with analgesic. Johnson also has three broken ribs, and a sharp piece of metal stabbed him in the stomach. I cleaned it out of course but-" he shook his head.

Skipper suddenly felt a rush of gratitude for Kowalski. He had kept Johnson alive when things must have seemed so bleak; he had fixed up Private and himself (Skipper). He was all that was holding the team from falling down into a deep abyss. Now, Skipper felt guilty about how he had been angry with Kowalski for memorizing those silly White House facts. Was that just a few hours ago? It seemed like a lifetime.

"Top-notch, Kowalski," Skipper managed. He could have said more, but he knew Kowalski would understand. Skipper suddenly felt uncomfortable with Kowalski's grief stricken eyes staring at him, so he scanned the room. Rico and Johnson had tubes stuck under their skin that were pumping a light amber liquid into them. A small screen was obviously displaying their heart rates and, while Skipper was glad to see that neither of the two lines was flat, the bleeps were still too slow for his liking. He wrenched his head away and looked around the rest of the room. Kowalski had found a bucket of fish somewhere; it was sitting in the middle of the room. His stomach felt acidic, as if he had just vomited, but he couldn't remember the last time he had eaten. Was it yesterday? Or was today already tomorrow? He was having trouble keeping track of the time. But then he spotted something that made his eyes widen.

"BLOWHOLE!"

Skipper could actually FEEL his face pale, but he still tried getting out of bed to fight. Unfortunately, that movement sent a wave of nausea through him, and he fell to the ground.

"It's all right, Skipper!" Kowalski assured him as he pulled his struggling leader back onto the bed.

But nothing could reassure Skipper. In one corner of the room, there was a large crate with a thin quilt draped over it. On the top of the makeshift bed was a grey dolphin. His paranoia was kicking in. Was Kowalski working for Dr. Blowhole? No, he couldn't be, Skipper had been training with Kowalski for years! Then why was he helping Blowhole recover?

Then it struck him: Blowhole didn't have any wounds when he escaped the lair. WAIT! He'd escaped the lair! Then who was on the crate?

"Doris," Kowalski said, as if he were reading Skipper's thoughts, "I rescued Doris, not Dr. Blowhole." Was Kowalski blushing? Skipper smirked and Kowalski looked at his feet.

"That's not much better, soldier!"

"Please, Skipper," Kowalski pleaded, "She-she isn't evil like Blowhole! She was tricked! Besides, it doesn't matter now anyway!"

"Why not?"

"Because a large piece of robot hit her on the head and I believe she has complete amnesia!"

Skipper had never seen Kowalski so worked up. He relented, only because he didn't want Kowalski to completely flip out. And Skipper was exhausted.

"You should get some rest," Kowalski told him, much to his relief. Skipper settled back down on his pillow.

"Same with you, soldier. You look beat." But Kowalski just turned toward him with a sad shake of his head.

"Not tonight, Skipper. Not tonight."

Skipper didn't remember how long he slept. All he remembered was the dream. Skipper was standing in complete blackness. Then, he heard the laughter. Deranged laughter that could only have on source: Dr. Blowhole.

"Paaaain-guuu-iiiin…" The word was no more than a whisper; and yet it sent a chill down Skipper's spine, "He's gone. You should have told him when you had the chance…"

"Joshua!" Skipper screamed. He realized that he never called Private anything but his rank. Not even in his own mind. Well, there was a first time for everything.

Again, that insane laughter echoed around him. Suddenly, he was back at the zoo. But he could tell from the smoking black puddle that this was that night. Roberto was lying on the ground, "Don't let him be like me!" he rasped, "I thought…you could keep him safe."

"I tried!" Skipper wailed, "Oh, Roberto, I tried." But that figure on the ground wasn't Roberto; it was Private!

"It's all right, Skippa!" he groaned, "I'm not…afraid to die."

Then he heard the crying. Deep sobs that were obviously wrenched from the very bottom of a soul. Skipper's vision was blurring; he just lying in bed. He sat up.

'Just a dream,' he told himself. But then why could he still hear the crying? Skipper rubbed his eyes with his good flipper and looked around. Leaning against a wall with his head buried in his flippers was Kowalski. His shoulders were shaking as he sobbed, making him look more helpless than Skipper had ever seen him.

He instinctively looked over at Rico and Johnson's heart monitor, silently begging he wouldn't see his worst fears confirmed. But neither line was flat, in fact, Rico's heart rate was actually improving. Then why was Kowalski crying?

"Kowalski?" Skipper said. Kowalski immediately stood at attention, but that didn't stop the tears from running down his cheeks. "At ease, soldier," The tension went out of Kowalski's shoulders, "Now what's wrong?"

Kowalski took a deep breath, "It's Rico," he choked. A shard of ice pierced Skipper's heart.

"How bad is it?" Skipper asked firmly.

"Bad," Kowalski replied, "Very bad. He has severe brain damage. That blow to the head damaged many of his brain cells and some nerves."

"Will he live?"

Kowalski's face broke into a pitiful smile, "Yes, yes I believe so. Just- just don't expect him to ever be normal again."

Skipper furrowed his brow, "What do you mean?"

"Well, I can't say for certain," Kowalski said, "But I believe that he will never be able to speak a coherent sentence again." Skipper thought that Kowalski was overreacting.

"So, he can learn sign language; like that chimp back at the zoo." he said. But Kowalski's eyes filled with fresh tears.

"It's not that simple, Skipper," he said, "Rico lost nearly 50% of his IQ points. I don't think he'll be learning anything in the near future. I also believe he might not be able to control his psychotic rage anymore."

Skipper knew that, as an explosives expert, Rico had a natural love of destruction. However, he never hurt a fly unless it was completely necessary. And he wouldn't ever revel in suffering. Obviously, that was about to change. Skipper's throat went dry. It didn't seem that Rico would be of any use to their team anymore. But at least he would live. That was a blessing in itself.

"I- I suppose I'll have to grant him an honorable discharge," he said hoarsely. Kowalski was silent. Skipper assumed he was still grieving, but it turned out he was thinking.

"You know, Skipper," he said finally, "I think we might be able to keep him on. I suppose some good, firm discipline could keep his psychotic rage at optimal levels." Skipper was starting to feel better about the situation. Kowalski's scientific mumbo-jumbo made little sense to him; but discipline? That was a language he spoke. Suddenly, a faint smile played at the corners of Kowalski's beak.

"In fact," he said thoughtfully, "Rico might have just gained a new skill."

Now Skipper was really confused. He couldn't imagine this mission having a positive impact on anyone.

"Well, out with it man!" he said.

"You see," Kowalski began, "That smoke hardened the skin and tissue in Rico's stomach and esophagus. I thought that only meant that the few words Rico could say would sound rough. But it also means that his stomach acid will be less powerful, giving his gut a unique ability to store objects in it for long periods of time. And the muscles in Rico's throat should be stronger than ever." Skipper sensed what Kowalski was getting at now.

"Regurgitation?" he asked. Kowalski nodded with a forced smile, "Is that…safe?" Safety was not something Skipper often thought about, as he and his team cheated Death to the extent of ludicrously. But of late, he had realized just how fragile life was.

"Now, normally I would say no," Kowalski admitted, "But with Rico's internal qualifications, he should be fine. Well, as fine as he'll ever be." The weight of the world seemed to be resting on Kowalski's shoulders. Skipper was considering risking climbing out of bed to comfort him when Kowalski threw his head back in a heart-wrenching wail.

"Oh, Skipper, I don't know how much more of this I can take! Everything's changing! Manfredi's gone! Rico is doomed to be a psychopath! I don't even know how to work half of these machines! What if I read something wrong and Rico is actually dying? And Johnson? HA! His very life is hanging by a thread! I- I don't know what to do! I couldn't help them; I can't help them! If they die…it'll be all my fault." His voice grew softer, and he sat back down. He was crying, but he had no tears left.

"Kowalski," Skipper said firmly, "Take a deep breath. I know right now things seem hopeless, but they're not."

"But what if they-?"

"Die? Kowalski, if they're going to die, there's nothing you can do about it! There is a reason for everything life throws at us! There is a reason we are all here! Do you think that if _you _weren't here, we'd all be alive? Wouldn't Private have drowned? And Rico and Johnson definitely would be dead! You, Kowalski, are trying your best. I couldn't ask for a better medic. In fact, I WOULDN'T ask for anyone else; and I'm sure Rico and Johnson wouldn't trust anyone else either. Stop beating yourself up! If they die, it won't be your fault!" Skipper took a deep breath, surprised at the forceful manner his little monologue had taken. Kowalski looked a little shocked, and when he spoke, his words were barely audible.

"Do you have a heart, Skipper?"

Skipper recoiled; the words felt like a slap in the face. No, worse than that. He could take a thousand slaps; but his teammate's words stung. They reached right down to the bottom of his soul. How could he talk so easily of death? Had he no feelings? Skipper was doubting himself for the first time in years. But he had the answer deep down. Skipper knew the truth.

"I do, Kowalski. I know because right now, it's aching. If I have no heart, why would I have taken in Roberto's son? Knowing full well that he is probably my most vulnerable side?" Now it was Skipper's turn to look shocked. Why had that come out? He had an unspoken agreement with his team: Never mention Roberto. Never mention Joshua. And why on earth would he tell ANYONE his greatest weakness? Maybe he was learning to trust more.

Kowalski's expression softened, "You can't put it off forever," he rose to leave, "Think about that. I'm going to go check up on Doris."

And Skipper did think about that. He thought for what seemed like hours. Roberto. Would he have wanted Skipper to try and forget him? But Private! Could he stand to learn that everything he knows is just a lie?

A long electronic buzzing pulled Skipper out of his reverie. He turned toward his left. While Skipper was fighting his internal battle, Johnson was fighting his own one.

And he had lost.

They buried Johnson in a small garden near the White House. Skipper no longer cared if anyone found it. That was Bush's problem (Author's Note: This story takes place before the events in the series. The 2008 election has not yet occurred). Skipper was hobbling on a makeshift crutch Kowalski had given him. They found an old box in Dr. Blowhole's lair to put him in. Kowalski had suggested a bandanna to replicate a burial shroud. Skipper said no. He didn't want anything to remind him of the night he lost Roberto. One loss at a time was more than enough. More than he could take, anyway.

They said a few words, just like they did over Manfredi. Then they had to rush back to the lair. Rico couldn't be left alone for long periods of time and Kowalski insisted on checking up on Doris. But this time, they entered with a hole in their hearts. That hole was Johnson.

Johnson, the fighter. And Manfredi, who always saw reason. Manfredi and Johnson, the inseparable pair. Manfredi and Johnson, who quarreled over the tinniest things. Manfredi and Johnson, who had died on a mission that seemed hopeless from the start. Manfredi and Johnson. Skipper's teammates.

They were greeted by soft groaning. Skipper inhaled sharply, fearful that Rico's condition had gotten worse. But then he realized that being able to vocalize pain would be a large step toward improvement. Yet somehow, he didn't think he'd have that kind of luck.

When Skipper and Kowalski reached the 'hospital' section, they could see that Private was sitting up in bed, clutching his forehead. His eyes were confused, taking in the obvious atmosphere of safety. After all, the last thing he remembered was probably the tank. But his expression brightened when he caught sight of Skipper and Kowalski.

"Skippa!" he cried hoarsely, "Kowalski!" His smile was contagious. Skipper felt the corners of his beak tilting upward despite the crippling sadness that was looming over him like a dark cloud. "I'm so glad you're…okay." There was obviously another word he was about to say. A word Skipper could no longer use to describe a third of his team.

Private's eager eyes scanned the room, pausing briefly over Rico. Skipper saw him blanch, but he continued to look around. He did a slight double-take at Doris, but was not as paranoid as Skipper had been. 'Paranoia comes later,' Skipper reminded himself.

But as he searched the room for a second time, Private realized something was terribly wrong. He turned toward Skipper.

"Where's Manfredi?" he asked, "Johnson?" His eyes were wide. Kowalski sat on the foot of his bed; just as he had done with Skipper.

"Private…" But to continue his sentence would be pointless. Private had already figured out the truth, and had fainted dead away. Kowalski seized his wrist and was still for a moment. Then he nodded at Skipper.

"Just shock," he assured him. Skipper let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. He had no intention of slapping Private silly to wake him up as he would normally do. Private's heart was not his weakness; but his strength. And he would need plenty of it after this mission. They all would.

Nearly five weeks had passed since the team returned from Washington. They had used a White House computer to arrange for Doris to be shipped into the Central Park Zoo as a transfer from the National Zoo. Now, she was their neighbor, happily entertaining crowds of humans.

After Johnson died, Rico started to show major signs of improvement. Within two weeks, he was ready to get out of bed. But every word Kowalski had said about his life was true. Rico spoke only with grunts and a few words that sounded like a baby's babbling. It took 8 whole days for Kowalski to teach him regurgitation, but eventually, he had it down pat. Rico needed to be watched at all time. He threw sticks of dynamite and hand grenades all over the HQ. Skipper repeatedly was dishing out his signature method of discipline: Slapping. Despite all of the difficulty Rico was causing, Skipper was confident he could eventually learn to respond to orders.

The leader had canceled all training until Rico was able to properly function as a soldier. Kowalski and Private spent their days sitting around the HQ, watching TV and playing checkers. Kowalski helped a lot with Rico, but Skipper couldn't stand looking him in the eyes while he was doing so. Kowalski's best friend was gone, for almost nothing was similar between the old and new Ricos. One night, Skipper caught Kowalski desperately trying to get Rico to help him with an invention. Unfortunately, Rico smashed some chemicals together ("Kaboom, Kaboom, KABOOOM!"), causing an explosion that nearly blew the HQ to China. Rico laughed like a psychopath the entire time. Once the fire was out, Kowalski ignored Private's questions and went straight to bed, silently.

But Private! He was having the most difficult time of all. Manfredi and Johnson's loss was obviously weighing the young penguin down with every step. He seldom spoke anymore, and obeyed all orders without even blinking an eye. Kowalski said it was just shock; but still it hurt Skipper to watch the hollow shell that was once Private. Private's smile seemed to be the sun, his laughter all that was good in the world. And although he didn't realize it, without his infectious happiness, Skipper's world was slowly becoming a living Hell.

Now five weeks and thirty-five sleepless nights had passed. It was early June, and the weather was warm. It didn't seem right for the world to look so beautiful; not after all that had happened. Skipper and Kowalski were on 'cute and cuddly' duty that day. Normally, they would all go out, but they had all agreed that Rico should not be seen by the humans. His wounds were healing, but he still needed to wear bandages and casts. And they couldn't have him spontaneously deciding to regurgitate a time bomb. Rico was getting better at following orders, but he still needed to be guarded. Private volunteered for watch duty (or, more accurately, he had been recommended for the job and had nodded), giving Skipper and Kowalski some much needed time alone to discuss some things.

"Nothing seems right," Kowalski noted as they waved to the crowd.

"You've just realized this?" Skipper responded without taking his eyes off the people.

"I- I'm just getting a little worried," Kowalski said, ignoring Skipper's last comment.

"About whom? Rico? Private?"

"Well, yes. Yes, that's obvious. But I'm more worried about Manfredi and Johnson." Skipper froze, "Kowalski, wherever they are, I'm sure they're fine. It's the living we should be more worried about."

"But that's just it. I'm afraid we'll lose them, Skipper! They were both fantastic, just fantastic, but when Private gets older, he might not even remember them!" Skipper knew this was false, especially since, as of the week before, Private was officially full grown. He had shed his down feathers so quickly, Skipper had actually instructed Kowalski to do a full medical analysis on him. Apparently, the stress of the mission had actually caused Private to mature more rapidly. Skipper had thought this was only possible for humans. Still, Kowalski's question was completely valid. It was a thought he'd had himself.

"How do you think we can remember them?" Skipper asked.

"We need to find a way that we can mention them often, but without bringing up any sensitive subjects. I mean, right NOW everything involving them is sensitive, but eventually we should be able to talk about them freely."

Skipper could actually feel little wheels turning in his brain. He stood perfectly still for a moment. Then he spoke.

"What if we make up ridiculous tall-tales about their deaths? That way, we can mourn them while lightening the mood at the same time."

Kowalski stared at Skipper, and for a minute, Skipper was sure he had said the wrong thing. Then, Kowalski's face broke out into the first real grin he had seen since Washington.

"Skipper, that's genius! Absolute genius!" Kowalski cried.

"That's what Manfredi and Johnson said about those free sky-diving lessons in Switzerland," Skipper said with a smile.

"If only the teacher wasn't too cheap to buy a parachute," Kowalski finished. The two of them started to chuckle, and soon, they became boisterous laughs. And for a second, the nightmare became closer to a dream.

The dream quickly faded though. The next day was cold and wet. It seemed like the world was crying. Kowalski had told Private about the plan, and he acknowledged his approval with a slight nod. Kowalski went off to visit with Doris (he did so every day, despite the weather). Rico was trying to figure out what was the largest thing he could regurgitate while Private sat in the corner and was trying his best not to cry. Skipper was still worried sick about him, just as a father would be. And he WAS a father.

Skipper heard voices in his ears.

"My future belongs to young Joshua." Roberto was dead, and nothing could bring him back. Who will give their future for Joshua, if not him?

"You should have told him when you had the chance," Blowhole's taunting nightmare voice said.

"You can't put it off forever," Kowalski was wrong. He could; he could put it off. Skipper hadn't said a word yet, and ignorance is bliss after all. He didn't need to say anything, nothing was forcing him to, and he'd suffered enough, seen enough, known enough. And so had Private. Skipper could keep the secret longer, he could keep it forever. He wouldn't say, he wouldn't say.

"Private," Skipper called suddenly, "Come here. I need to tell you something."

THE END.


End file.
